


You Wish

by Minyoongistummy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Developing Friendships, Divorced Harry Potter & Ginny Weasley, Domestic Fluff, Draco Malfoy is Clueless About Muggle Things, Draco Malfoy is a Good Parent, Family Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Harry Potter is a Good Parent, Not Harry Potter and the Cursed Child Compliant, Separated Draco Malfoy & Astoria Greengrass, Slow Burn, Teaspoon of Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-15
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2019-03-18 18:39:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13687503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minyoongistummy/pseuds/Minyoongistummy
Summary: Draco is once again struck with how odd this entire morning has been. Standing in Harry Potter’s kitchen, making cake without magic, dutifully measuring and adding whatever it is he’s instructed into the two mugs on the counter.(or: Scorpius wants to hang out with Albus over Summer break, and Draco can't very well let his 2nd year son travel half way across London on his own, and so Draco finds himself spending the day with the one and only Harry Potter)





	You Wish

**Author's Note:**

  * For [backwardsties95](https://archiveofourown.org/users/backwardsties95/gifts).



     Really, this is the last place Draco had expected to be on a Tuesday Summer morning.

     Walking down to what Draco is sure is the smallest house he’s ever seen, in the back end of a muggle village, to spend the evening with Harry Potter.

     Or, well, it was so his son could spend the evening with Harry Potter’s son, but the statement still applied.

     “Father,” Scorpius starts from his side, pointing excitedly down the road. “I think it’s that one!”

     Examining the address on his son’s phone (a device he’d only recently acquired, why must muggle inventions adapt so frequently?), he found that indeed, the small cottage at the end of the street was the Potter residence. 

     They had, to Draco’s increasing anxiety, decided to take muggle means to the Potter house. First it had been a floo to King’s Cross, and from there, a muggle train, followed by a muggle bus, and now they were continuing the rest of the way on foot. Draco was more than ready to take a rest.

     “Go knock on the door then, Scorpius,” Draco suggests patiently, “and be polite. Remember to thank them for having you over,” he calls after his son, who is bounding off towards his friend’s house.

     If he’s being honest with himself, Draco is glad for the few moments to collect himself. Other than the brief encounters the last two years at Kings Cross when sending their kids off or picking them up, this would be the first time Draco meets the other after he’d spoken for him and his mother at their trial.

     Not that Draco was avoiding him per say, its just- how do you say “I’m sorry for everything I’ve ever said or done to you, thank you for saving my mother and I from Azkaban despite it all, I hope we can put it all behind us and become right good friends.”

     No, it doesn’t really work that way.

     But before Draco can think of any proper greeting, a young boy with wild black hair that sends a pang of familiarity down Draco’s spine is opening the door with a bashful grin.

     Draco watches his son struggle with himself for a moment before pulling his friend into a disconcertingly tight hug, and Draco is struck suddenly with how different him and his son’s childhoods have been.

     Just as a sprinkling of pride settles over him, for what he’s been able to give his son, for the life he’s been able to provide him, despite everything, another familiar mop of black hair appears at the door, and green eyes that have been haunting his dreams for the last 20 years find his in a second.

     “Thank you so much for having me over,” Scorpius  says in a rush as the younger Potter drags him further into the house before they disappear around a corner.

     “Scor-“ Draco starts, but Harry is waving it off with a grin.

     “Don’t worry about it. Albus hasn’t stopped talking about today for the last week, they can have their fun.”

     Draco isn’t sure what to say to that, so he simply nods, stepping into the house when Harry makes room for him. Really, he understands; Scorpius hadn’t been able to focus on anything else lately. Draco actively pushes away the wonder at what his father would think.

     “I’ve just put tea on,” Harry starts, walking further in to the house and gesturing for Draco to take a seat on the ancient looking couch. “Did you watch the match last night?”

     At this point, Draco is a little lost for words. The house somehow looks smaller on the inside, the sitting room containing a small (in Draco’s opinion) television, a coffee table, and the couch that looked like it could belong to his great grandmother, had she had such horrific taste.

     From where he stood mesmerized by the front door, Draco spied 3 doors down the hallway, and a simple wooden table just outside the moderately sized kitchen. The only decoration in the house Draco can see is the clock on the wall that looks to have a picture of Harry, Ginny, each of his children, and some other boy he doesn’t recognize, as opposed to hands.

     This seems out of character for someone as close to the vest as Harry, but Draco supposes he wouldn’t be in the right to question. Perhaps it had been a gift. People tending to like Harry Potter.

     “Thank you,” Draco responds distractedly, giving a cautious press to the dilapidated cushions before gingerly taking a seat. “No- I didn’t get a chance to,” Draco admits, poking around the Quidditch magazines on the heavily stained and worn coffee table. “Scorpius wanted to go over his plans for today, and ended up giving me a summary of your son’s life.”

     Draco silently accepts the tea held out to him as Harry reenters the living room and takes a seat beside him. “First broom when he was two years old? That is a brave move, Potter.”

     Harry laughs good naturedly, and Draco is once again struck by how odd this entire scenario is.

     For some reason, Draco is nervous. Not about the scenario itself. Draco knows Albus is a good kid, there is no concern towards his son’s friendship; he is sure, no matter what happens, _that_ will remain as it is.

     No, it is himself, his own friendship, or lack thereof, that troubles Draco.

     Troubles a grown, mature, knowledgeable Draco, who can’t help but feel like he is all too suddenly 11 years old again, asking the mysterious Harry Potter to be his friend.

     “It sounds like you and I had a similar night, Draco.”

     Just like that.

     It’s that simple.

     All the nerves, all the guilt and shame and regret, fall from Draco’s shoulders in one fell swoop, to be replaced with forgiveness, acceptance, and fulfillment.

     Draco feels himself rest back fully into the couch, and takes a long, scorching sip of tea to keep himself from saying anything he knows he’ll regret.

     “Albus was really excited to show Scorpius all of our muggle appliances. Apparently, you have been depriving your son of a microwave, or so I’ve been told,” Harry jokes happily, and Draco can’t find it in himself to fell insulted when Harry looks so pleased with himself.

     “Yes, I’ve heard of this microwave. Not a very safe device, is it? A box that sends radioactive heat into your food. Can’t be the most practical.”

     “That-“ Harry looks at a complete loss for several moments, and then he is falling back against the arm of the couch, howling with laughter. Draco doesn’t much appreciate being made a fool of, but he waits for Harry to calm down without comment.

     “Its not radioactive,” Harry starts when he’s left just chuckling between breaths, “It- Its science. It makes the water molecules in your food more active, so it heats up, yeah?”

     It must show on Draco’s face that he doesn’t understand, because Harry is standing with a pat to Draco’s knee.

     “Come on, I’ll make us some mug cakes.”

     Draco is once again struck with how odd this entire morning has been. Standing in Harry Potter’s kitchen, making cake without magic, dutifully measuring and adding whatever it is he’s instructed into the two mugs on the counter.

     Albus and Scorpius pop in at some point to retrieve drinks from the refrigerator, informing their fathers that they are going to be playing video games for the next hour or so, and then they’re once again off.

     Once the cakes are properly mixed and settled in the coffee mugs, Harry is setting them both in the microwave before settling down at the dining table where it appears he’s waiting for Draco to join him.

     Draco does so without hesitation, and it almost alarms him how easily he’s come to trust this man he’d once considered his rival.

     “They should be done in a minute or so,” Harry informs Draco, then he’s raising his hands to catch the two teacups Draco hadn’t even seen drifting towards them, and Draco takes his own with slack jawed awe.

     “You can do nonverbal spells? Not just that, but wandless?” Draco asks, uncomfortably aware of how impressed he must look.

     “Well,” Harry laughs once again, but this time it is more empty, more forced, “when you’re on the run, it becomes more of a necessity.”

     Silence settles between them, and Draco takes care to note that Harry doesn’t seem upset or disturbed by this change in topic, but he’s not so sure himself that he’s ready to have this sort of conversation.

     Before either of them can carry forward, the timer is going off, and Harry is pushing himself up from the table to retrieve their cakes.

     “Harry,” Draco starts urgently, before he has time to really know what he’s going to say, before he has time to think of whether this is really where he wants to say it- while his son is visiting a friend, in his old rival’s kitchen just before they eat ridiculous radioactive cakes. But then, when would there ever be a good time?

     Harry stops, despite the obvious tension in the moment, and patiently gives Draco his attention.

     “I-… Thank you.”

     It’s not what he’d wanted to say. It’s _everything_ he’d wanted to say, but it’s not enough, he’s not sure he could _ever_ say it enough. There aren’t words to describe what he needs to say to Harry, what Harry deserves to hear, but Harry seems to think it is exactly what he’d been waiting for, and Draco is sure this is the first time he’s seen such pure and whole contentment on the other’s features.

     “You’re welcome.”

     Draco isn’t sure he would ever be able to describe the feeling in his chest in this moment, the last dregs of guilt and shame melting away, to leave him in a state he’s not sure he’s ever had the privilege to experience.

     Right now, in this moment, his heart is warm; he feels light, like a weight he hadn’t realized he’d been carrying has been lifted off his shoulders, and he can’t stop the grin from spreading across his lips as he follows Harry back into the kitchen.

     “Do you want the vanilla or chocolate cake?”

     Draco scoffs, like it’s the most preposterous question he’s ever heard, and it feels so _good_ to be able to laugh over things like cake and quidditch and silly muggle appliances.

     “Chocolate, obviously, what do you take me for?” 

     Harry responds with a scoff of his own, dutifully handing Draco a fork along with the chocolate mug cake. “I’ll have you know, my vanilla cake is fantastic.” When all Harry gets in response is another teasing laugh, he gives Draco a swift poke with his fork. “Tell you what. You come back for next week’s quidditch match, and I’ll make you the vanilla one.”

     It takes more concentration than apparating to keep the shock and glee from his features, but Draco somehow manages as he gives Harry a challenging grin. “And what do I get when I am shown that chocolate is indeed the superior cake?”

     Unfortunately, Harry is also good at hiding whatever it is he might be thinking about this turn of events, because all Draco gets is a thoughtful hum, and then, “You get to pick the meal of choice for the following game.”

     It’s Draco’s turn to give a full-bodied laugh, and he can’t remember the last time he’s experienced such joy (calling Scorpius’ birth merely joyful is an insult to his son’s existence, which continues to overwhelm Draco with how he’d come to deserve such a spectacular, wonderful human being in his life).

     “Alright, you’re on. Are you ready to see just how wrong you are?”

     “You wish.”

**Author's Note:**

> I definitely did not think I would be writing a Harry Potter fic, and yet here we are. The floodgates have opened. I will most likely be writing more in the coming future. You have been warned.
> 
> I didn't think anyone would read this! I'm glad people are liking it, I love love love comments! Also this is the first Harry Potter fic I've written, so please let me know what you think!


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